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They emerged into an amphitheater. Kavaia departed from the open mouth of the parenchyma, her bracelets glinting in the light. Sadik barely managed to follow in time. The cell was already moving up the xylem again, the vascular tissue thickening with bark as it twisted through the columns above. Around him, wooden capillaries strangled the architecture, leaves fell from the sky, and every chiseled corner of marble seemed as white as bone. It felt as if he had been swallowed by something much larger than he could fathom.

Sadik reached for the end of his ponytail. He had been wearing the braid loosely, keeping the worst of his long black hair away from his eyes. With a few casual motions, he undid the clasp, massaged the strands with his fingers, and let them fall around his face. His hair had grown so long that it nearly reached his shoulders.

In ordinary circumstances, he would be embarrassed. He had been neglecting to groom himself for weeks. Now, he was grateful for it. The unkempt hair would hide the tattoos on his face. It may not fool anyone up close, and the sword on his back would already betray his true allegiance, but it was better than nothing. He must do everything he could to not be recognized.

If the pantheon should discover who he truly was, his life would be forfeit.

Kavaia was already limping up the steps of the amphitheater. Despite her injuries, Sadik struggled to match her pace—the blocks of marble were at waist-height for him, so he was forced to jump in the places where she could merely step. The architecture had not been designed for someone of his stature.

At the top of the stairs, there was a bridge that stretched across the sky, leaving nothing but wind below. Ahead, there were hints of a marble city nestled inside a colossal shell of leaves. He saw columned porticos rising through branches, buttresses slashing between leaves, waterfalls spilling across bark. Above it all, the ancient wooden face of the Neheamatt continued to rise, its canopy blossoming like a nebula.

Sadik followed her across the bridge. The ground fell away. There was only open air below, a mile or more before he saw blood-red clouds and the craggy peaks of mountains. Above, the sky had darkened, despite the morning sun. It made him dizzy to stare into it, as if he would fall into the stars.

He should've been ecstatic. Few mortals were ever allowed to see the pantheon of the gods. Instead, his heart was thundering in his chest. Through the rising crest of leaves, he saw the edges of bronze domes, the fortress stands where many of the gods would make their abodes, and the sight only filled him with dread.

He must flee this place as soon as possible.

An archway marked the entrance to the pantheon. There were reliefs carved into the pilasters, depicting ancient battles and ceremony. Kavaia did not give it a single glance. She was limping at a relentless pace, something more akin to an invading soldier than a returning resident. They passed beneath millennia of history as if it were no more than an open checkpoint.

He followed her into the pantheon. He was greeted with skin and blood.

Ilios, god of the sun, bearer of radiance, had been strung from the top of a branch, as if he was no more than a chandelier. His feathers had been plucked from his skin, and the skin itself had been flayed from the flesh, stretched out by a tangle of hooks and wires until it appeared like a mockery of wings. His pose had been transfigured to match the friezes that lined the arcade—other gods leaping into a chasm, billowing their wings in pursuit of demons. Stories of myth and legend. Unlike the paintings, Ilios was marred with broken ribs, jagged limbs, organs peeking through rotten flesh. He leaped over nothing but a dried lake of blood.

Sadik could only stare in horror. Someone had murdered a god.

His lord. His patron. His guiding light.

“It's silent, isn't it?"

Kavaia's shadow fell upon him. Her skin was as green as the shaded leaves.

“G-goddess?"

“The branches. Do they whisper to you?"

He heard nothing but the wind whistling through the columns. From the desiccation of his skin, Ilios had no blood left to drip.

“I hear nothing," Sadik said.

Her rumble echoed across the atrium. “Neither have we."

“How—" Sadik had to tear his vision away from the ceiling. “The Neheamatt—"

“If she has bared witness," Kavaia said, “it is lost in the wind."

Leaves rustled against bronze and marble. Above the columns, paintings told the stories of ancient gods, clashing against evil.

“This is heresy," Sadik said.

“A hollow word, such as things are."

“A god has not been killed in centuries. The last person to try was condemned to be eaten alive."

“Yes," Kavaia said. “I remember. The Glimmer healed his skin as quickly as it dissolved. He lost his sanity decades before the end."

“Have the Exalted lost coherence? Do they not flit through your halls?"

“Hardly. They spread through the leaves. Observing. Someone must watch, now that Neva is silent."

“Why has Aldunya not broken this traitor upon her bark?" Sadik almost feared to wave to the corpse above. “The tree has never shown clemency. If the gods should commit evil, if—if they should ever betray the faith bestowed upon them—"

The crocodile held up a hand. Sadik silenced himself.

“Do you understand the weight of this crime?"

Slowly, as if the sight would cut through his heart once more, Sadik raised his head. The god of the sun was hanging from the leaves like a broken bird.

It was more than simple murder. He had been displayed at the pantheon entrance. From the agonized look on his face, Ilios had not met his end gently. The wings of skin had long lashes running through the canvas, so large that light was leaking between the gaps. At the same time, the amount of blood on his face suggested that his beak had been shattered while his heart was still beating.

“Yes, goddess," Sadik said. “It weighs on us all."

“Do you see why I have been so reticent to speak? Why all the gods have fallen silent?"

“. . . I suppose so."

Rotten skin. Empty eyes. Ilios screamed in silence.

“Mortal," Kavaia said. “I do not fault you for mistrusting my actions. I ask only that you trust my intentions."

She had saved his life. Both as a boy and a man. It was said that the Jade Demon only granted life for the men who would one day become gods.

“I think I can find it in me, goddess."

Capillaries slithered across the recesses. Statues gazed eyelessly into the thin sky above.

“We will be ambushed," Kavaia said. “It is unavoidable. He will ask why you are here. You will speak honestly. I have told you nothing of my plans. You are merely doing as I bid."

Sadik gazed into the black rims of Ilios' eyes. They did not stare back.

“This is for your protection. Mortals may not be harmed without provocation. If you do not give him cause, he will not attack. Do you understand?"

“Yes, goddess. I . . . understand."

Who could've murdered the divine?

“There is not much time," Kavaia said. “We must go."

“I—" He lowered his gaze. “Allow me a moment. To pray."

The goddess paused her walk, glancing between corpse and man. “Was he your patron?"

“Yes. Brightest of all."

“Oh." Her regal bearing began to falter. “Of course. I was not aware. . . ." She looked down a shaded portico, as if she expected something to leap at her from the shadows. “Yes. Take a moment."

Sadik lowered his head into steepled fingers. Slowly, the tattoos on his skin began to blaze. His armor had been designed to reflect his body's light, and, as he stood in the vast space of the atrium, phosphorous light began to glint off dozens of bronze scales, scattering hundreds of rays across columns and statues and friezes.

He tried to pray. No words would come. He was a fugitive in the very city he had served. All his brothers were dead. Now, the god he had worshipped was butchered for all to see.

There was no appropriate eulogy. Nothing could set this right.

He felt Kavaia's presence behind him. “I am sorry. He was the best of us."

“Yes," Sadik said, his voice thick. “He was."

Her hand hovered above his shoulder. She seemed hesitant to touch him again. After a moment, it fell away.

“There will be justice, mortal. I promise you this."

He didn't answer. The light of his tattoos died like a smothered fire.

“Come," she said, ushering him forth. “We should not delay, and . . . you should spare yourself the sight."

Sadik stumbled forward. He craned his neck to watch the lifeless body, as if the soul of Ilios would emerge bright and radiant from the curtains of flesh he had become.

This was the cause of the storms. For weeks, Acheron had been drenched in a constant rain of blood. The clouds had never parted, and though the sun still rose and fell, it only graced its light upon foreign lands. Just as the marble floor of the pantheon had soaked in the blood of Ilios, the stone and brick of Acheron had soaked in the blood of the clouds.

It had always been seen as an ill-omen. The citizens had thought it was the wrath of the Neheamatt, brought upon by the horrors of the revolution. The plagues were punishment for sin and heresy. Sadik had never even thought to suspect. . . .

In a daze, he continued on through shaded halls, barely feeling the shadows of leaves and buttresses falling across his face. The slap of his sandaled feet against a smooth floor of marble hardly registered to his ears. Despite his surroundings, Sadik's mind continued to race.

The Luminous Path had been systematically eradicated during the revolution. He had fled through the gardens of Kohav Yaran, his half-clothed body stained with the blood of the Vizier, and he had seen nearly all his brothers slaughtered to a man. Not even Dusksong had survived the night intact. It had felt as if he had been watching the void between the stars wash over everything he loved.

At the same time, the gods had fallen silent. While Hisana's body grew cold in the bedchambers, a rain of blood had formed over the city. Through the riots and plague that followed, the gentle rays of the sun had not once fallen upon the face of Acheron. Not since that fateful night.

Ilios had clearly been dead for some time. He had been the patron of the Luminous Path. Now, he had been left butchered in the halls of the pantheon.

Could it be coincidence that the sun had been murdered at the same time as his followers?

All at once, the sound of distant shouting caught Sadik's attention.

They had come upon a colonnade that overlooked the vast expanse of a hippodrome. The oval arena, normally designed for the racing of chariots, was filled to the brim with gods, many of whom Sadik could recognize on sight. They made for a striking crowd. Just at a glance, he could see a falcon's head wrapped in feathers of ice, a panther wearing a mask of living stone, a shimmering haze of flies collecting into bodily form. They were all seated in the stands, regal faces turned towards the heart of the stadium.

In the middle of the arena, a debate was raging. There was a baboon pacing in front of a podium. His gesturing was just as wild as the glow of the tiny moon floating a cubit above his head. Sadik knew him as Xaeyr, god of the cataracts and protector from evil spirits.

“—shadows of ourselves! A disgrace to our forebears! The mortals cry out in fear while we let our own failings poison the land! My opponent. . . ."

Xaeyr gestured to the god opposite him on the stage. Thimera, goddess of pleasure, beauty, and music, shook her head at the display, her horns twirling above her bovine ears like a pair of snakes. Between the two of them sat a dragon, her aquamarine skin bathed in fire. Sadik recognized the four-legged creature as Lanir, goddess of truth and justice.

“She wishes to ignore the heart of the matter!" Xaeyr shouted, the moon above his head dimming and glowing with every syllable. “A ceremonial feast would fill their bellies, but it would not till the land! It would not fill the granaries! A concert of lutes would not fill the hearts of any mortal who cries out for justice! We have let them suffer in silence, and we must make our entrance with decisive action, not feeble pleasures!"

In the stands, many gods whispered to their neighbors, pointing and gesturing.

“Decisive action!" Xaeyr repeated, pounding a fist into his palm. “Our first task should be the appointment of a permanent Vizier! We should break the siege! Purge the Demokrats from every office! The people will not be saved from starvation until order is restored!"

Lanir turned her head to Thimera, embers flickering from her half-lidded eyes.

The bovine goddess strode out from behind her podium, graceful as a dancer. “My simian friend speaks so fiercely! The god of the river has words like a waterfall!"

A few scattered chuckles rang through the crowd. Xaeyr folded his arms across his chest.

Thimera faced the crowd, her beautiful voice echoing across the hippodrome. “My friends! The mortals have chosen their path! Let us not forget that the revolution was their own doing! The blood that stains their streets was wrought from their hands as much as our own! But blood spilled in the face of tyranny is well-earned, I should say!"

More murmurs rippled through the stands.

Kavaia was watching the exchange as she walked. A disgusted rumble escaped her chest. “She's never shed a drop."

“Shall I remind you all of our compact?" The bovine goddess opened her arms to the crowd, her voice as sweet as honey. “We exist to enrich their lives! It is only by their faith that we are nourished! Would they not lose their reverence for us if we undid their efforts? Would the people sing our praises if we ruled with an iron fist? No! The people have chosen their leaders, just as they have chosen their gods! And we must celebrate their courage! My simian friend would have us—"

Kavaia took a sudden turn down a hallway, and Sadik lost the rest of the speech as he followed behind. He was glad for it. Thimera's words had gutted him like a khopesh. As they paced through a corridor, he thought of Hisana's headless body. He remembered the desperate cries of the peasants as they rioted for food. The smell of dew and autumn leaves had suddenly grown cold and hollow.

Thousands had died while the gods bickered amongst themselves. They were treating the crisis like an academic question. Pointless words, little action.

Once more, he saw the blackened eyes of Ilios.

“Goddess," Sadik said.

The crocodile did not answer. Her thick tail quivered with every step.

“Goddess. Please."

“Prudence," Kavaia said, her voice barely a whisper. “We are not safe."

The hall was empty. Every step echoed over columns and mezzanines. There were pavilions inside a sheltered meadow, a fountain of sap flowing from a great trunk of phloem. The air was thin and bright.

Kavaia glanced back at him. A saffron eye asked a silent question.

Sadik swallowed his feelings, placing a fist over his heart.

Her gaze lingered for a moment before turning back. She led them down the sunlit path of another hallway, hissing at the pain of her wounds.

As they continued to roam beneath the branches and archways, Sadik began to see signs of battle. There were scorch marks on the marble, places where the gold cornices had melted across stone. He saw claw marks, piles of ash, jagged holes cracking through the walls. Collapsed piles of bronze and marble that must've been the home of a god. Sadik almost thought he could smell blood hiding beneath the breeze. It felt as if he was down in the sewers again, waiting to emerge into the scarred surface above, his mind sensing the tide of gore that lay just out of sight.

He could see how it all happened. Ilios had been murdered by a fellow god. His mutilated body had prompted a manhunt. Tensions had flared. Violence had erupted. There had been factions, shifting allegiances, some attempts at ceasefire. Endless debates raging in the hippodrome. The Neheamatt had seemed to watch it all with indifference . . . or silent approval. All the while, the killer continued to hide in the shadows, waiting for the next opportunity.

It was no wonder that the gods had fallen silent. The same instability spreading through Acheron had already spread amongst their patrons, as well. Nothing was more destructive than civil war. There was a sense of bitterness to the fighting, like a roaring flame that could not be quenched.

Acheron's plight was more dire than he had dared to believe. If even the gods could fall. . . .

“Oh, Kivie!"

The voice echoed through sunlight. In an instant, Kavaia had stopped, engulfed Sadik's chest in her hand, and pushed his body behind her. “Do not move," she whispered. “I will protect you."

Slowly, the sound of footsteps filled the hall. Sadik was forced to peek over the curve of her hip.

A jackal was walking towards them. There was gold glinting off every surface of his body. Some was jewelry—bracelets, rings, brooches. Most of it had been melded into his skin, painting long vines of radiance across the shape of his chest, neck and thighs. Besides a white linen kilt, the rest of his body wore nothing but jet-black fur, the slithers and slices of gold only highlighting its depth. Every muscle seemed to be chiseled from obsidian.

His name was Rushan. God of war.

Sadik's heart began to thunder.

“There you are!" He grinned, his teeth glinting like his skin. “Oh, how I've searched for your light! How the sun has grown pale without you!"

Kavaia's tail began to shift.

The jackal stopped an arm's length away. Like Kavaia, his stature was impressive. Sadik's head would barely reach his navel. “The Neheamatt blesses me. It was my wish to see you again."

“Who granted you this wish?" Kavaia asked. “I must thank them properly."

“Oh, come now. I know the routes you walk. The secret passages you believe your own." His smile grew wider. “You're not as subtle as you think."

A breeze sliced through the leaves.

Rushan's expression did not change. “Where did you go, Kivie?"

“Does Thimera know you stalk my shadow?"

The jackal snorted. “She's a sycophant. Hardly able to chew her cud." He opened his palms, as if there was nothing to be done. “You don't love a parrot that mimics your words, do you? You merely tell them what to say."

“The stars are not aligned, it seems."

“They were before."

Kavaia loosed a rumble, shaking her head.

“Kivie," Rushan said, drawing it out. “Have you brought a mortal into our domain?"

“Cut that name from your tongue. I will not warn you again."

“Mortal!" A whistle pierced the hall. There came a snapping of fingers. “Leave her legs alone! They're closed now, as you can tell!"

Sadik hesitated, retreating behind the white linen dress.

“Show yourself, mortal! Your betters call upon you!"

Kavaia reached backward. Her hand found Sadik's chest. For a moment, relief spread through his skin, just as it had in the xylem. “Must I warn the Exalted?"

Rushan snorted. It did not reach his eyes. “For what crime?"

“Conduct unbecoming."

He laughed and looked away, as if searching for a witness.

“Subterfuge," Kavaia said. “Skulking the halls for my every move."

The gold on his skin began to glint. “You will not—"

“Desperation."

In a blink, Rushan was inches away from her. The air shattered in his wake, gusting and cracking.

Sadik had personally witnessed the jackal in battle. There would be only a blur, a storm of dust erupting from the earth, and a dozen foreigners would shatter into mist and bone. Arrows would break against his chest. Swords would shatter. Entire trebuchets would be nothing more than kindling in his hands.

He was said to be invincible. Swifter than lightning. And now he was angry.

“Let us set the stone, Kivie. You require my assistance! Your simian gutter feeder is nothing but a charlatan!"

Sadik felt her rumble in his chest.

“I am the defender of Acheron!" Rushan hissed. “Not you, or Xaeyr, or anyone else! I will see the city through her troubles, and all of you will be fortunate enough to thank me when it's over!"

“I see no triumphant battles," Kavaia said, her voice thinly calm. “I see only invaders assailing our walls."

“Pond scum! Nothing more!" Rushan began to point a finger. After a moment, he tightened it into a fist. “Their end will come like chalk before the rain. For now, I fight more insidious opponents. Ones that roam these very halls."

“Or hang above them."

His ears twitched, the gold inside glinting. The two gods were close enough to share every breath. “You were there, Kivie. You watched the tribunal. I was proven innocent."

“Proclaimed innocent," Kavaia said. “Hardly the same."

“I would not have kept my authority if there was any doubt."

She tilted her head, watching his fists. “I wonder."

“The Neheamatt would have me skinned alive for such a sin. Any god would suffer a similar fate. Its gaze is inescapable. It must've witnessed the murder of Ilios. And, yet, no one has been punished. We are left to point our fingers among silent leaves. Why is that, do you think?"

Kavaia took a step back, hissing at the half-healed wound on her thigh.

“Goddess," Rushan said, taking a step forward. “You were not given permission to leave the pantheon. Where did you go?"

Sadik felt her tail stiffen.

“Acheron is nothing but strife and discord. Invading armies thirst for our blood. As should be expected, I have declared a war footing. This grants me the authority to restrict any movement in or out of the pantheon. None of us may grace the mortals with our presence." His breath came hot and slow. “Not until we find the murderer stalking these halls."

Kavaia met his golden gaze. “Do not treat me as if I believe your lies. I'll not be insulted."

“Kivie," Rushan said. “Where did you go?"

A breeze rustled the leaves. Water dripped across stone.

“Who is this mortal behind you?"

“Rushan." The crocodile took a deep breath, as if steeling herself. “We are finished. Let it go."

He moved. She almost didn't block. He punched with a speed that shattered the air. Kavaia dodged, weaved, escaped a grapple, but he was relentless, blindingly fast, overwhelming her in seconds. With a snarl, Rushan gripped her by the neck and threw her into a marble wall. The stone cracked like a spider-web. Her gasp echoed down the halls.

“Mortal!"

Sadik was exposed to sunlight.

“Lower your hands!"

He had been reaching for Dusksong. Rushan leaned forward, his jet-black figure towering high above. Sadik felt no better than a child.

“Going for a sword?" Rushan asked, a grin slicing his face. “Don't you know to kneel in the presence of your betters?"

Slowly, his fingers fell from the haft of his weapon. He bowed his head, letting his long black hair fall across his face, and took a knee upon the marble.

A bark of laughter echoed down the hall. Rushan began to clap his hands, every strike loud enough to slap through Sadik's bones. “Oh, I can see why you like him, Kivie. Follows orders well, doesn't he?"

To the side, Kavaia struggled to stand, hissing with every motion. Bloody bandages danced across her teeth.

“A soldier, as well." The jackal began to pace around him. “A man of bronze, through and through. Ready to fight at a moment's notice." He clicked his tongue. “It seems you're still longing for what's familiar."

“Rushan—" Kavaia coughed, leaning against a column. “You may not harm a mortal, let alone a god."

Rushan turned back to her, tensing himself for a strike. The goddess flinched away. Sadik had never seen a member of the pantheon look so helpless.

“Who said I would harm him? Clearly, he is what you desire. Why should I stand in the way?"

Sadik kept his gaze locked into the marble. He listened to the jackal pacing around him. The echo of his footsteps brought him back to the palace. The throne of the Vizier.

“Mortal," Rushan said.

“Yes, my lord?" Sadik replied.

“Have you come to please your goddess?"

Kavaia clutched her side, watching the proceedings with a sneering grimace.

“Come now," Rushan said. “Don't be shy. Proclaim it to the heavens! You, a mortal, will taste the flesh of a god! Few of your kind ever live to see these halls. You must imagine my surprise when I find that you will partake in one of its residents, as well." He hummed in his chest. “There must be something special about you."

“I—" Sadik blinked, his mind racing. “I was not aware that was my task."

“Is that not what you desire?" Golden sandals slapped across marble. “Is that not why you wished to come?"

“I was not given a choice," Sadik said. “The goddess asked. I obeyed."

“Don't take me for a fool. Of course she asked! You would not have seen a hint of these branches without her blessing." Sadik felt a shadow fall upon him. “My question is why."

“Would that I know, my lord."

“Not forthcoming, was she?"

“Like water from stone."

Rushan kneeled beside him. Sadik felt the heat of his breath. The immensity of his size.

“I should warn you," the jackal said. “You have quite the task ahead. She is a very exacting woman, as I'm sure you've noticed. It takes a godly performance to hear her moan." He paused. “Speaking from experience."

Kavaia pushed off the marble column, hissing at every step. “He is innocent. I am your focus. Stop pretending otherwise."

“Oh, I will get to you in a moment, Kivie. Have no doubt."

“Do it now. Stop threatening those who do not deserve it."

“Perhaps you should coiled have with him in the mud and gutters below, if you didn't want an audience."

The crocodile scoffed. “Stars above, you are pathetic."

In a blink, he was back to his feet, moving in a rush of gold and crackling air. “I am not the one dragging mortals to the pantheon! You have disobeyed my authority! Breached the cordon! As far as I'm concerned, it is my duty to inspect the cattle you've brought to slake your lusts, lest they threaten the pantheon itself!"

For a long moment, the two gods stared at each other. There were panting breaths. Bared teeth.

“You've joined their side," Rushan said. “Haven't you? Gave up your neutrality for that simpering monkey and his little rebels. Is that what this is?"

Kavaia did not answer.

The jackal snorted, as if no other expression would fit. “Kivie. This mortal is half your size. He's nothing more than a doll. Do not throw it away for this."

“I cannot discard what has already been lost."

“If you would listen to me. . . ."

“Roosh," Kavaia said, not ungently. “Stop."

He clenched his fists. In an instant, a marble column exploded into fragments, spraying shards and dust clear across the hall. Broken air thundered through the leaves. Kavaia stumbled back, desperately hugging the wall.

Rushan leaned in, his fist painted white with marble dust. Every slice of gold was glinting in waves, his bared teeth an alabaster white against his curled black snout. It was a sight that had ended thousands of mortal lives.

Kavaia pressed herself against a mural. Her breaths were fast, her eyes open wide.

“I have been patient," Rushan said. Every word seemed to smolder. “That will not continue any longer."

Kavaia steeled herself. Slowly, never taking her gaze off the jackal, she rose back to face him. More than a dozen teeth emerged from the line of her snout. “I don't know what I ever saw in you."

Rushan flattened his golden ears. A flurry of emotions crossed his face.

“Love is blinding." Kavaia stepped forward, the fear washing off her body. “Arrogance seems like bravery. Vanity seems like passion. Even petulant children can appear like gods."

A breeze sliced through the leaves. The murals behind her spoke of sacrifice and valor.

“You have forced my hand," Kavaia said. “The pantheon must be protected from your ambitions. From you."

Rushan's fists were as hard as stone. Muscles flexed and heaved.

“Threaten me all you like. I will not acquiesce any longer."

A snarl echoed through the hall. Fists shook with impotence. After a moment, Rushan spun away from the goddess, casting a dark shadow upon the floor. Stone dust scattered in his wake.

Sadik quickly lowered his gaze. Through the long strands of his hair, he saw gold-plated sandals stride before him. Every step rattled the ground. The god of war could've stomped him into paste with a single blow.

A silence fell. The air was thin and bright.

“Mortal."

“Yes, my lord?"

“Look at me."

Sadik did not move. His hand longed for the grip of his sword. If he must die, he would do so fighting.

“Bare your face," Rushan said. “I wish to see the visage of my rival."

Sadik glanced at Kavaia. She remained against the column, watching with a grimace. Blood stained her dress.

“Do not look at her. Look at me."

Sadik took a deep breath. Slowly, as if he was lifting his sword for an execution, he raised his head. Long black hairs fell from his face.

His gaze had to travel across jet-black fur, a white kilt, and twirling lines of gold. When it met its target, the jackal's eyes widened. Recognition blossomed across his face.

“My lord," Sadik said, quietly. “Does that satisfy?"

“Yes." For a moment, his muzzle opened and closed. “Yes, it does. Sadik. Sadik . . . Umayeed something or other." He leaned forward, blocking the sun. “Is that correct?"

“. . . close enough, my lord."

Rushan looked at Kavaia. He looked down at Sadik again, as if he could not believe what he was seeing. A breathless laughter began to escape him. “Oh, Kivie. You have no idea who this is, do you?"

Kavaia blinked. Gold nemes swayed in the light as she looked between man and god. Her slit pupils began to widen.

“You brought him here?" The jackal was hardly able to speak. “To this place?"

“I—" Kavaia looked down at Sadik, as if she'd never seen him before. “Who is he?"

He bent back, roaring his laughter to the ceiling.

“Who is this mortal?"

Rushan's laughter only grew stronger. It went from plain shock to naked elation, continuously rising in pitch until it was nearly a mad cackling. Every attempt to speak ended in failure, and every bark of jubilation seemed to twist as it echoed down the halls. He laughed until he was bent double over a knee, wheezing and gasping for air.

Kavaia emerged from the line of columns, her bloody dress bathing in sunlight. “It does not matter! If you think you can have Thimera work her tongue—"

Rushan moved. The air cracked. Kavaia was lifted clear off the marble tiles, her weight supported entirely by the hand around her throat.

“Oh, it does matter, Kivie. It's the finest blessing I've received in centuries."

He tightened his grip. Kavaia gasped for air, feet kicking uselessly below.

“The irony is delicious. Stars above, you were always so proud of your ignorance. Refused to learn the cults of men! Oh, how noble you were! Better than the rest of us! Isn't that right?"

She gripped his arm, teeth snarling. Desperate chokes for air.

“And now," Rushan said, face bright with teeth and gold, “the first time you ever try your hand at scheming, you make the worst possible blunder. A mistake for the ages! A traitorous mortal in our halls! I cannot believe—"

The jackal stopped. His shadow darkened on the marble. Yellow light filled the hall, glinting off every slice of gold. He turned to face the source.

Sadik's sunbeam struck him in the chest. The blast of energy scoured the halls, overshadowed the murals and columns. Rushan stumbled back. There was burning fur, quaking steps, a surprised gasp of air.

Kavaia collapsed. Sadik sprinted forward, his greatsword still belching fire. The last member of the Luminous Path placed his body directly between the two gods. His tattoos burned as brightly as his sword.

“My lord," he said, hair falling over his face. “I believe we've talked long enough."

Rushan stood straight again. Dusksong had scorched a perfect circle in his chest. The black fur had burned to ash, leaving only mottled red skin in its wake. Of course, Sadik's sword was capable of destroying buildings in a single blast. The god of war had barely lost his balance.

He had sealed his fate.

“You." The jackal focused his gaze upon him. “You dare?"

“I will do more than dare."

Rushan stepped forward, eyes reflecting the yellow light. Sadik readied himself for combat.

He would not run again.

The jackal gestured with his hand. “Impressive sword, mortal. Tell me its name."

“Dusksong, my lord."

“Offer it in fealty, and I may spare your life."

“It is not mine to give," Sadik said. “It belongs to the true Vizier." The runes surged with power. “However, if you step forward, I will grant you a taste of her blade."

Rushan's grin was savage. “Gladly."

A shuffling came from behind. Dark green hands wrapped around his torso. Kavaia lifted him from the floor as if he was no more than a toddler. Sadik was too surprised to protest.

“Oh, yes," Rushan said, taking another step forward. “Rein in your guard dog, Kivie. His bark exceeds his bite."

Kavaia paced backward, shielding Sadik in her arms. She was dripping wet with blood.

The jackal began to snicker. “Run."

Kavaia took another step back. Sadik could feel the rapid pounding of her heart.

Rushan flicked his wrist, as if dismissing a servant. “Go on. Run. Scamper back to your little rebels."

She turned her back to him.

“Go on!" Rushan shouted, cackling with abandon. “Run away!"

Kavaia was already dashing down the hall, moving between flowering vines and fountains rolling with sap. The jackal's laughter followed them like a hail of arrows.

“Enjoy your mortal! He's tasted royalty before!"

His voice chased them through every hall and garden. It bounced through the piles of rubble, danced across the waxy fronds.

“You chose your fate! Remember that!"

The goddess continued to flee. Atriums and colonnades passed in a blur. Statues looked on with empty eyes. Slowly, like washing blood from a wound, the air returned to a breezy silence, punctuated by panting breath and pounding feet.

Kavaia only stopped running when her leg buckled beneath her. Her knees plunged into the marble floor, and Sadik nearly found himself tumbling from her arms. As she gasped, blood crawled across her white linen dress, trickling down the reopened wound in her thigh.

For a moment, she seemed to concentrate. The sound of hissing filled the air. Her injuries began to heal like a stew coming to boil.

“Goddess," Sadik said. “You may put me down now."

Her only response was a groan of pain. The smell of burning flesh overwhelmed the leaves.

“Goddess!"

She grunted. Sadik was released from the crook of her arm. He moved to the center of the hall, peering down the lighted porticos and twirling veins of xylem. No one was following them. Even still, he kept Dusksong held firmly in place, feeling the power surge through her haft.

“We should not delay," Sadik said. “We need shelter."

Kavaia suppressed a snarl. A plume of steaming blood rose from the hole in her thigh.

“Goddess. We are exposed. We cannot stop."

“As if I'm unaware? Would you expect a broken wing to fly?" She breathed for a moment, leaning heavily into a marble column. “Your point is taken. Help me walk, mortal."

He moved to her uninjured side, guiding the palm of her hand over his shoulder. The weight was substantial. Sadik felt his own legs begin to buckle as Kavaia rose unsteadily to her feet. One wrong step and she would crush him like paper.

“Sadik," he said.

Her bandaged face turned to him. With part of her weight braced on his shoulder, he could count all the hard ridges of her snout.

“My name. It is Sadik."

“Yes," Kavaia replied. “So it is. Would that you had told me before."

“I spoke no more than my station, goddess."

“The fault lies in me, then?"

“Perhaps you should not fish strange men from ponds."

She made a sound somewhere between amusement and anger. “Twice now, you are fortunate to still draw breath. Clearly, it means very little to you."

He did not answer.

“Help me down the hall, Sadik. My abode lies beyond the doors."

She pulled away from the column. He used all his strength to keep her standing. Down the length of a shaded colonnade, there were a pair of bronze double doors carved with reliefs and hieroglyphics. Vines had overtaken much of the surrounding marble, as if it had been decades since they had seen a shear.

“Sadik."

“Yes, goddess?"

“Thank you."

“. . . of course."

They made their way across the last of the hall, grunting and straining with effort. Regal sculptures looked on from recesses in the walls. Above, murals lined the ceiling, depicting the foundation of Acheron, the conquering of native nations, and all that Glimmer had done to transform the people.

They reached the doors to her abode. Kavaia braced her shoulder and smashed her way through.

He entered the home of the goddess of death, dragging her along with blood and gasps.